The Struggle of the Exiles
by Revenant's Snare
Summary: The threat of agony has trailed in my wake for far too long; I pray that the desolate memories of the Bryyonian war and the wedge that it bends and writhes about will become a fleeting respite, a sapphire elegy that echoes in the darkness of the night.
1. Chapter 1: Queen's Gambit

**The Struggle of the Exiles**

"My brothers…my sisters…my brethren, they are but a simple fragment of the dark corners of my mind, forever haunting me with the nightmares that linger. Was it all meaningless? Who will remember us, our cause, and our purpose? Are we simply another log in the raging fire that burns ever so brightly in our enemies' hearts? Do you see our people, locked in an eternal struggle with the very things we had called friends, allies, and family? Do you see our fertile land ravaged by war? Do you hear our very planet screaming out in agony and writhing in torment? Do you see its scarred remains littered across the barren wastelands, forever tarnishing our once proud past? Perhaps this is our divine retribution; who am I to question fate and destiny? I lie here, etching my last words so that our history becomes known. I am Bryyonian, I am the last Lord of Science."

**Chapter 1: Queen's Gambit**

We stand firm; our gaze is perpetually locked at the beautiful night sky. Stars, Milky Ways, nebulae, galaxies, moons, and a whole manner of other celestial items adorn the heavens; they are an artist's masterful brushstrokes that come together to create his artwork and the skies are his canvas. None of this matters, however, as what we have just witnessed on this very day is too much for words.

A pillar of thick, black smoke drifted across the sky, pushed by a strong gale of wind. I was seemingly caught off guard by this sudden change in weather, as were many other people surrounding me too. Feeling some splashes of water against my face, I fixated my stare to what had just previously hosted the stunning spectacle. A large bolt of lightning shot down in the distance, followed by a piercing clap of thunder that reverberated across the lands. Several onlookers darted towards the Royal City, and everyone else followed suit. It soon became an all out foot race as we pushed and shoved our way to the front of the stampede.

The heaviness of my breathing began to take over every one of my thoughts as fatigue began to set in, and I soon found myself stumbling off the main stone path and into a nearby Kashh Plant. I sat upright and listened to the dissipating cacophony of noise that was their footsteps in the distance. Pushing myself up off the ground, I brushed some dirt off my body and proceeded to the main path that I had just been on. Only but a simple silhouette at the edge of my view, I could make out the iconic entrance to the Royal City as it began to materialize. The abrupt change in the storm's severity had become the greatest form of persuasion, and I found myself quickening up my leisurely pace.

In front of me was a large tunnel, stretching out almost endlessly to the very limits of my vision. Ornately decorated fangs jutted out in every which way, creating an ominous presence that filled me with an unimaginable amount of dread. Torches lined the hallowed hall, their flames flickering in the wind as I began to feel somewhat beckoned to continue forward. Busts of ancient Bryyonian Emperors followed the left side of the wall, while busts of our sacred gods followed the right. The Antecedent, propagator of the genesis, Ordyyn, Chronicler of Ages, Korphyygis, Instiller of Venom, Arkithun, The Lord Artisan; it truly was a sight to behold as I passed each one of these legendary figures.

The hall soon gave way to the Grand Court, a room used exclusively for the Emperor's speeches, thus bringing me to the realization that this is where everyone had run off to when it began storming. The yellow nectar outlined the edges of the room, flowing through grooves carved into the ground to form the symbol of Bryyo itself. My thoughts drifted to the yellow nectar and I remembered how it all began.

Ancient Bryyonian religion states that when the waters receded from the primordial island, and land spread outwards, Vyyth poured a vitalizing yellow liquid upon the barren land and prosperity thus ensued. Aside from this information, the yellow nectar was simply a legend that was passed down from generation to generation for thousands of cycles. However, all of this changed when I stumbled upon a secret shrine hidden in the mountains way above the Royal City. Here, the sacred nectar flowed like rivers and waterfalls, eventually culminating at single spots to form lakes. It was also here that the eternal flames burned brightly; I had found the Garden of Light.

I then presented my findings to the Emperor and it was soon regarded as one of the greatest achievements in the history of our proud people. We quickly learned that the yellow nectar had the power to heal those stricken with disease, which prompted us to bathe our newborns in the substance as a ritual of sorts. We also learned that it was extremely flammable and could ignite under certain circumstances, leading some people to begin questioning its use. It became apparent that small roaming insects known as Gelbugs, adult forms of Shelbugs, actually released the nectar as a form of waste. With this knowledge, I created controlled environments where the Gelbugs could live and produce the yellow nectar. Working with dozens of other eager Bryyonians, I created devices that would harness the power of the yellow nectar to hopefully revolutionize daily life. These devices started as simple things, but they soon became complex machines that baffled the populace with their intricacy. However, no invention was as momentous and as grand as our current one: a makeshift spacecraft.

I snapped out of my unforgettable memories to the noise of a blaring horn, blown by a Royal Guard high up on the balconies surrounding the court. The crowd began conversing amongst themselves, filling the area with a powerful onslaught of noise as more and more people arrived at the entrance. The sheer size of the audience coincided with the significance of the event that was at hand, the coming of our Emperor, Bryyus the First.

Situated several hundred feet above the ground was the Royal Balcony; it was here that history was made multiple times by monumental speeches given by the Emperors of yesterday. He entered, and the crowd fell completely silent.

"When I was a small boy, I would gaze up at the stars in absolute wonder. I was completely enthralled with the idea of a vast world that continued outside of our own, brimming with life. However, this was but a dream crying out to be fully realized, one that was ultimately victim to the harsh truth of reality. If we never push those borders, those boundaries, and those mental barriers, we will never be able to overcome the limits of our consciousness. Hear me out, brethren! We have achieved the impossible, we have overcome those limits, and we have launched our first ship to the stars! This day marks the rise of Science, of an aeon of prosperity; this is the Golden Age, this…is a new Bryyo."

The time of peace was at hand; we are a paradise unrivaled. Despite this, the songs of joy that filled the Royal City couldn't be more unsuitable, as this was the beginning of our downfall.


	2. Chapter 2: Fool's Mate

**Chapter 2: Fool's Mate**

Happiness is not eternal, unfortunately, for nothing can stay golden forever. The night of his groundbreaking speech, Bryyus was violently killed in his sleep by an unknown assassin. Bryyus, our liberator, our emperor, had been killed. Our sorrow was great, but not as great as the hatred that raged on in the hearts of our enemies. N'ge, a respected figure of the Royal City and member of Gslyss, a major Bryyonian clan and house, took his place.

The cosmos; they have seen the rise and fall of empires, the destruction that wars have brought about, and the very cleansing of entire worlds. While our first space ship was more of a means of gauging just how well the yellow nectar would perform as a fuel source, its success filled us with enough determination to create more spacecraft. We sped to the stars in every direction; we bore a banner of peace on our path to enlightenment. We found stellar brethren in the Chozo of Zebes and the Luminoth of Aether, friendships that would prove to be extremely beneficial. Wisdom, knowledge, history, and technology were some of the things that were exchanged between us. Our cultures seemed to match perfectly; they blended together to create a beautiful harmony of music where no note sounded forced or out of place.

Because of the overwhelming rise in the use of spacecraft and its use in the ignition of internal combustion engines, the yellow nectar became known as fuel gel. We learned from both the Chozo and the Luminoth that the substance was extremely rare and highly sought after. Not ones to let such an opportunity merely slip by us, we started selling it to other races and eventually became the largest exporter of fuel gel in the region. It had essentially lost all of its religious meaning on its path to becoming a tool that would lead us to further prosperity. This was all that they could take; Bryyo experienced a massive rift in society as we arrogantly pursued our path of enlightenment. The "Primals", as we called them, grew hateful as the majority of the population of Bryyo began favoring the New Ways of Science over the Old Ways of Magic. We called ourselves the "Lords of Science", a fitting name, for we completely embraced the ways of science and all of the wonders that they provided.

It was at this time that De'la, a visiting Chozo, offered the gift of knowledge to our newly crowned Emperor, N'ge. This significant event became the embodiment of everything that the Lords of Science stood for. As such, statues depicting the event were erected on the tallest mountain of Bryyo, a cold, harsh environment that functioned as a tomb for the past Emperors of society. It was to serve as a constant reminder to future generations of our race's contact with other interstellar species. De'la warned us to seek balance between the New Ways and the Old, just as the Chozo had done several centicycles ago. Filled with arrogant pride as a result of our technological achievements, we foolishly forged on, ignorant of the rage in the hearts of the Primals. We would soon learn that pride was at the very base of all great mistakes, and that as long as you are looking down at someone, you can never look up.

No longer was one judged by the content of their character, but by the faction that they belonged to. It was black and white, good and evil, light and darkness; there were no gray areas, only cold, bitter hatred. Even the Royal City had been divided into two sections, one for each of the factions. We were fully aware of the immediate danger at hand, for no action was made without fear. It was a waiting game, a waiting game where our biased prejudices toward each other clashed in a battle that would yield no winner, except death himself. The real question was what are we waiting for?

As more and more hearts were won over by all the wonders that we provided, the Old Ways of Bryyo began to fade as the time of a New Bryyo came about. The shouts of joy from those who embraced the wonders of Science had almost completely enveloped the cries of those who still mourned the Old Ways of Magic. We thought that we could crush the ideas of the Primals by ignoring them rather than meeting them head on. We were fools, as ignoring something does not make it go away, but simply encourage it to thrive.

The time eventually came when the first Lord of Science, Sfimas, denounced the traditions of the Primals at the center of the Royal City.

"Why do you resent our ways? What are you so afraid of? We present you with technology, with unimaginable wonders to help progress our archaic society. I recognize that we must honor our tradition, but we mustn't be caught looking to the past, for we will never be able to tell where we are going. Hindsight is good for telling us where we've been, but it's not good for telling us where to go. Traditions are shackles that are a hindrance to our progress and advancement. We beg of you to reconsider your stance on this whole matter; we offer you a life of peace, order, tranquility, and unity made only possible by the New Ways of Science. No longer shall—"

A dark colored muscular audience member stood up and cut Sfimas' speech short.

"Was it not the Luminoth who said, "Through vigilance and strength, we create peace," or the Chozo who said that we must seek balance between the ways of old and the ways of new? You boast about your achievements so much that you don't realize that you fail to heed the advice of your interstellar brethren, contact that was only made possible by your "technological wonders". Bah, you lack the hindsight to know where you've been, the foresight to know where you're going, and the insight to know that, this time, you have gone too far. Why do _you _resent our ways? What are _you _so afraid of? Have you forgotten who we are? Our religion, our traditions, our culture, our very way of life? You sell our sacred nectar with absolutely no disregard for your actions. You call these changes progress, but you fail to recognize that change does not necessarily bring about progress. This is all dependent on the eye of the beholder, but your eyes are blurred by a veil, a veil that has been carelessly put on in your arrogance. We have had enough; this is treason against our civilization. This…this…is war. Heed our warnings, for you shall surely perish."

We were a ship on the ocean, a vessel lost at sea; we continued on with the storm fully in our sights, our vision clouded with the hopes of finding an island that wasn't there. Why couldn't we steer the ship before the storm? We fell to the sea, but still we swam for the shore. It is upon this vast ocean that the beginnings of life thrived, for the children of Bryyo had been born here. Now we are but meager fish in the briny deep, swimming to our watery grave where our only hope for salvation is our yearning for the past. May the high god, eternal body in the sky, have mercy on our souls.


	3. Chapter 3: Cross Check

**Chapter 3: Cross-Check**

We have achieved excellence without wisdom and power without an ounce of morality. Diplomacy has given way to brutality and war has made its home on our world. I know not of virtue nor emotion, for death is my blade and destruction my guide. I am the bane of the Primals and the scourge of their nightmares; the very fiber of my being is as a poison to their bodies. No mercy will be granted to them, as none shall be given to us. We turned our minds from exploration to annihilation and from enlightenment to massacre. But who were we fighting, our enemies or ourselves?

The conflicts started out as very small and out of view, resulting in little casualties for either side. Among those early casualties, though, was truth. It is very contradictory that we must kill in order to acquire peace; war does not determine which side is correct, only which side gets to live another day. Those who set out in hopes of winning it had gone out on a fool's errand, for there are no winners in war. Fear in the guise of courage, it was. To gain confidence, strength, and true courage, we must meet that fear head on. It is a beast that lives inside of us and feeds on our attention; its shadow is large, but in truth there is nothing really there. We recognized the error of our ways and the stupidity of following the News Ways of Science with blind faith. Blind as it was, we still allowed our dream to be denied of its fruition as we allowed our fear to grow bigger.

For decacycles our traditional weapons: swords, chakram, and whips had been largely unchanged. We had been at peace for the longest of times, so we had merely used these, along with Warp Hounds, to hunt for food. These dangerous cold-blooded creatures are used mainly as guard dogs and hunt beasts, but they are still vicious nonetheless. The name is actually a misnomer; they don't teleport, but rather refract the light around their bodies to give the illusion that they can warp from point to point. This ability makes them ideal for ambushing enemies in large numbers. The introduction of fuel gel into their diets has also yielded very promising results, as they can now attack with blasts of thermal enemy and create shockwaves by stomping on the ground. With the advent of science, we upgraded our whips and chakram to utilize an electrical current to disrupt voluntary control of our enemies' muscles, allowing us to incapacitate them and then move in for the finishing blow.

These are inconsequential compared to our Golems; massive mechanical statues we created to accomplish tasks no Bryyonian could with his bare hands. Labor Golems had been introduced during the Age of Schism and could be distinguished by their smaller size and horned snout; they were powered exclusively by fuel gel and were used for manual labor. Their more aggressive counterpart, the War Golem, was an absolute monstrosity. These massive, hulking, immensely powerful colossi would become the vanguard of our entire military campaign; they were the Yin to our Yang. We thought that the machines would isolate us from our problems, but they simply thrust us more deeply into them.

Just as assuredly as the sun in the morning rises did the battles escalate to full-scale assaults. Once we unleashed horrors unknown upon our Primal enemies, they retaliated by cursing us with the darkest of their ancient magic. It was a virus, a virus that carved a swathe of destruction in its path. We simply called it the Curse, as it attacked the internal organs of its host, leading to death in a matter of days. Fortunately, we were able to isolate its victims and contain the virus. The ordeal had already left its mark though; our population had dwindled significantly, giving the Primals the advantage of numbers. The Curse was extremely contagious, but nowhere near as contagious as the war that provoked it use; Bryyo too had become a casualty. Its air had been filled with the smoke of battle and its soils polluted with toxins. The Lords of Science and the Primals carelessly burned each other's crops, poisoned the waterways, and did just about anything to gain an upper hand. The gods had tirelessly crafted this world for us to live on, bestowed gift after gift upon us, continued to soak all with vitality and life from deep within the City of Glass, and this is how we repay them? How the mighty have fallen. We cannot undo what has already been done, for the sands of time can never be reversed. The Chozo and the Luminoth tried greatly to ease the conflict and bring some manner of peace and order about, but alas, this was all in vain. The people of war would not be denied.

I walked and stood over the edge of the pool; I saw a stranger staring back at me, yet there was an air of familiarity about him. He was a dark brown, slender, and somewhat weak six-limbed lizard standing on its back legs, mocking me with his very presence. My eyes drifted towards his face; his sinister features hinted at a tragic past, one that most likely coincided with the peril that Bryyo was currently facing. I lowered my body closer to the water; I could feel my feet slipping forward but I swiftly readjusted my center of balance and regained my footing. Upon closer inspection of the stranger's face, there was something more, something deeper. He was inspired, but he was not always evil; he was regretful, but he had good intentions present in him. Feeling a strange emotion as I paused there, I stood rapt in awe as if something had been awakened inside of me. It instantly hit me with the strength of a thousand deadly poisons, this was me! I had been staring at myself for the entire time, a look at my inner conscious.

"What madness is this?! What do you want?!" I demanded.

"Ahh!!" I lashed out fiercely. My bed, made of leaves woven together with strands and fibers from Spaikk Bushes, twisted around violently before dumping me on the ground. A nightmare, but why? Parallel to the floor, I took in all that was wondrous of the sun's rays. Within it lived Ekrosyys, Caretaker of the Dead. The children of Bryyo, no matter their ethos, would ascend into the sun itself after their time on this world was over. Ekrosyys would then tend to all of these children, making sure that their souls would assimilate into the light of the sun, thereby revitalizing the never ending cycle of life.

We had set up base in the ruins of a sacred temple, a product of the gift of architecture given to us by Arikthun, the Lord Artisan. Our armies had been slowly advancing into Primal territory, a remarkable effort on our behalf considering that we were significantly outnumbered. Skaan was their lord and emperor; he was the Primal who interrupted Sfimas' speech and the one responsible for organizing their split from our society. He was a remarkable warrior and an even greater strategist; his tactics in the field of battle had earned him a reputation of a god. In fact, he had gained an almost mythical status among our ranks. The sound of a horn blasted throughout the camp, calling all Lords of Science to arms. It was time for battle.

My thinking was true and wide-awake, but perhaps it was also truthful that this was why I had been plunged into a labyrinth of a nightmare, a place where suffering and misery were endlessly reflected in the mirrors of sanity. These mirrors were the frame and foundation for conventional thoughts, thoughts that were but fleeting shadows on a cloudy day. They are a storm that torments us, and just as we remember that there is light at the end of the darkness do the clouds begin to clear. The sun shines through and the darkness is cleared away, but still I weep, for my fears are the shadows of reality. Even now, my soul ever reaches for the truth; I dip my brush into its very essence and color only to find pain and sorrow. If I were to hurl all of darkness into the deepest abyss and hear no sound, I would still pursue it until day turned to night and the rising moon broke free from the clouds.


	4. Chapter 4: Absolute Pin

**Chapter 4: Absolute Pin**

Despite what actually happens on the battlefield, there are no unwounded warriors during the time of war. Even those who do not live by the sword can still die by it. War is a wildfire; it can start so easily and quickly become out of control to the point that nothing can stop it from engulfing entire forests in an inferno of flame. Every tree, every blade of grass, everything consumed in its path simply feeds the fire, leaving only ashes. Then there is the silence and anguish of the torturous hour. Soon after, the phoenix rises from the ashes as a shining beacon of hope, illuminating the path from whence the darkness came. Fear turns to trust, lies turn to truth, despair turns to joy, and an era of peace is brought about. The phoenix then takes to the air, majestically soaring through the blue skies, still challenging fortune's spite. New forests eventually grow and the process will one day repeat itself. It is a somewhat sad reality, but there will always be conflict and nothing can change that.

I placed my hand on the armor, slowly sliding it down the cold Jovian steel while feeling every dent, nick, and rough edge in it; it was obvious that it had been used before. The neck opening and bottom edges were roughly flared while the closures were secured with rings tied to their loops. The metal of the cuirass wasn't particularly thick at one millimeter, but this mattered little as Jovian steel was one of the strongest alloys in the galaxy. There were four greaves and two arm guards lying up against the armor; I picked up two of the greaves and brought them closer for inspection. They comprised of an outer layer of lightweight Talloric alloy with several layers of silken canvas underneath; the silk banded at the top while it tied behind the leg at the bottom. Both the greaves and the arm guards appeared to be paper thin; I assumed that this was for increased comfort and mobility while still offering a decent amount of protection.

Hurriedly, I lifted the armor off of the ceremonial statue that it was resting on and quickly fastened it to my body. The arm guards and greaves followed suit; I put the chakram on my neck as if they were ornamental necklaces and placed the whip and sword in latches on the back of my armor to lock them in place. The sounds of metal clashing against metal, hellish blasts of Science marking the ground with each and every one of their footsteps, and tribe battling against tribe found their way up to my room. Then, there was silence. It reminded me that at the very end of the day when the dust will have finally settled what we would remember. It is not what our enemies have said, but rather the silence of our friends. It is a source of great strength and yet the loudest of screams.

I hastily made my way down the stairs of the sacred temple, two steps at a time while alternating all four legs before finally reaching the meeting grounds. Hundreds upon thousands of Bryyonians were standing at the center of the court, seemingly frozen in time and yet ready for battle at the same moment; an invisible barrier separated the two warmongering sides. War golems stood their ground while vibrating ever so subtly, creating the quietest of humming noises and releasing the occasional puff of smoke into the air. Beast masters struggled to keep control of their warp hounds, rabid with hunger and ready to pounce at a moment's notice.

As I jammed my way through the formation of warriors I noticed our enemies possessed a weapon that was not present within our own forces—the mighty Korakk Beast. I knew this creature's characteristics all too well; its strengths, its weaknesses, and its animalistic instinct, for its tender meat was the very crux of our diets. The Primals sat atop their backs bearing lances as if they were mounts; this would have been the most absent-minded thing they could have done if the Korakk Beasts had not been tamed. The Chozo had told us that they bore a vague resemblance to domesticated horses of the planet Earth, but this meant absolutely nothing to us. However formidable they may have seemed, they were living creatures and could therefore be robbed of life just as quickly as they had been given it. Their carapace was as hard and as strong as the ground that they stood on, but it left the soft tissue of their belly exposed. Sensitive nerve clusters present in their tail could be hit to briefly cause the creature to stand on its back legs, leaving the belly open to attack. The problem was that the Korakk Beast would quickly place its feet right back on the ground, foiling the plans of its aggressor; only would a well coordinated attack of two or more people bring it down.

I saw a figure moving about their ranks as I stood on the very tip of my toes, their sinewy muscles growing sore as I glanced over the heads of my comrades. The figure emerged from the wall of troops; I couldn't make out who it was but I suspected that the muscular build and physique belonged to none other than Skaan, their lord. He began marching towards the center of the three-hundred foot stretch that separated our sides; it became apparent that he, along with the rest of the Primals, had introduced a ritual or initiation of sorts to show allegiance to their kind. The skull-like mask, spine-like piercings that projected out of their backs, tattoos that consumed their bodies whole, and self-induced scars assured us they were as much the primitive savages that they had become in our minds.

He reached the center of the invisible barrier and, in doing so, had the shadow of a several story tall spire cast on him as the sun emerged from its cloudy refuge. It was as if the sun knew what was about to happen, the events that were to unfold, the battle that was to be fought, and couldn't dare turn a blind eye. This shadow, I imagined, was formed by our selfish thoughts, representing the gloom of the world and yet the joy that had been just out of our reach; the shadow of a burden that will never leave us. It was a poem, echoing its clearly obvious and yet subtle meanings within our minds, us muting them out in our arrogance.

Then, strong winds gusted through the scene; flag bearers struggled to keep hold of their poles as this sudden breath of a god mercilessly unleashed its rage upon our species. Unbeknownst to us, a massive brooding cloud blew in from the horizon and let loose a torrential downpour the likes of which we had never seen. Lightning forcefully struck its sword deep within the sodden ground, lighting up the entire country side while thunder roared across the lands. Bryyo itself was being bludgeoned and beaten to a pulp. It was like the sky had peeled back its beautiful skin to reveal its sickly skeleton, the perfect storm. We were but actors on the stage, performing a play in front of the audience of the gods themselves where every gesture, every line, every laugh, and every moment stirred them into a frenzy of disgust. They were discontent with our performance and the storm was their calling card; they poured upon us the wines of frustration from their golden cups as they watched their paradise catch fire and their sons wage war.

I kneeled down and ran my hands into the sand that made up the ground; I held it within a loose hand as I battled my angers. Clenching it tightly, the sand trickled through my fingers before I threw it to the wind. Where were the soft blue petals of the heavens that had brought a smile to my face? Why had our blissful world caught flame in a purgatory of fire and brimstone? Why do the black roses of fear bloom in wretched melancholy? Do our futures drift as serpents across the lines in the sand, only to be entombed within a sarcophagus of woe and remorse? I directed all of my anger towards the Primals and began to weep, hoping that the tears of my prayers would be wiped away. I pray that our blood, as hopelessly as a candle being lit in the wind, does not drench these barren wastelands in vain.

Skaan still stood out in the center of the court; there was no cover to protect him from this salvo of projectiles that was the storm and yet here he stood his ground, bearing the brunt of the blow as his straight face twisted into a grimace. It was absolute chaos; the script upon which reality is written, and yet there was still order in the presence of it. He orated to us.

"To have power is to have the ability to control change. It is not whether it will be used that matters, but instead if it will be used correctly. You had thought that your course was pure, that you had the right to enforce your vision of utopia on Bryyo. You have created the most monstrous of tyrannies; you have appeared as protectors in the illusion of fighting a foreign enemy. The good of Bryyo's children was your alibi; we were your servants and we were to blissfully enslave ourselves. There is no greater evil than you approaching us at dawn and hiding behind a shield of justice and the light of liberty. You want the day without having to endure the night, the crops without having to till the ground, and the rainbow without having to experience the storm. Your struggle may be a physical one shared with ourselves, but it is more or less a moral one that is weighing you down; not even Science is immune to the corruption of power."

We regret our decisions and are truly sorry. Our foolishness had become obvious and we wish we had heeded the Chozo's warning. They told us we could meet our enemy with either a clenched fist, lifted and ready, or an open hand held out in peace. It is too late now, for it is impossible to shake hands with clenched fists. Nevertheless, I summoned as much courage as I could muster and addressed my brothers in arms.

"We have broken the law and our conscience tells us that it is unjust; we willingly accept responsibility and await our punishment. However, we are not criminals; we are in fact expressing the highest respect for the natural order. We are gods among the weak, divine beings among the feeble! Our very touch is as sacred nectar to a newborn's skin, for tonight we fight with no doubt or worry! We are the epitome of absolute beings; we have conquered ourselves!"

I hear the screams of pain from Bryyo, a planet wracked by darkest war. I see its children dying from famine, its people left helpless, and its victims tortured. I wish to banish the evil, but I cannot, for I too suffer. The torment of our frustration stems from the realization that we had locked ourselves within a prison that we had so carelessly built for ourselves. We had the power and the willpower to do whatever we wished. If we wanted to scale a mountain, it was our choice. If we wanted to achieve eternal peace, it was our choice. Our success was nobody's doing except our own. We could clear any obstacle and we could build any machine; it was our decision, our prospect. We held within the very cusp of our hands the key to our destiny, but we heedlessly locked the gate shut and threw away the key.


End file.
